


Perfect

by thewaterfalcon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hansy - Freeform, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 07:11:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10589016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaterfalcon/pseuds/thewaterfalcon
Summary: Nominated for ‘Best One Shot/Drabble’ in the 2017 Marauder Medals





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> ~Harry/Pansy  
> ~ministry ball  
> ~wine  
> ~red lipstick

 

 

* * *

 

_ 'Cause we were just kids when we fell in love _

_ Not knowing what it was _

_ I will not give you up this time _

_ But darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own _

* * *

 

“Harry, you’re making me dizzy, please just sit.”

 

“Can’t do that,” He mumbled in response and resuming his pacing, “is it time to leave yet?”

 

Hermione clicked her tongue. “If you want to help set the tables out, then yes. If not, I suggest you  _ sit down.”  _

 

This time, he took heed of his best friend’s suggestion, and sat, somewhat awkwardly, upon the arm of his couch. 

The heel of his left hand met his forehead as he tried, only partially successfully, to stop himself from fidgeting. 

 

He didn’t hear Hermione rise from her own seat but realised she must’ve, for he felt her hand rest gently upon his shoulder. “Harry,” she began, “I say this with love; you’re being incredibly irate.”

 

Harry raised his face, turning his head so that his eyes could meet Hermione’s. “ _ You,  _ are calling  _ me  _ irate?” he replied, incredulously. 

 

“Yes.”

 

“Consider it payback, for having to put up with you for so long.” He nudged her side, playfully.

 

He felt her grip on his shoulder momentarily tighten. “You’re going to be fine,” she said. It was comforting and familiar, and somehow, perhaps because Hermione was rarely wrong, he was able to mostly believe it. He had to. 

 

“I hope so.”

 

* * *

 

_ A lot of things changed that night. He’d known that going in, this was the night to end it, one way or another, even without the memory evidence obtained from the depths of Severus Snape’s mind, he’d known that there was a high likelihood that he wasn’t just walking onto a battlefield. It was always going to be more than a battlefield for him. He would go, whether it be via walking willingly, or being dragged, ungraciously; he hadn’t known which... until he’d had to.  _

_ However, it wasn’t the outcome, as grateful as they were for it, or the losses; those were, of course heartbreaking, but unfortunately, expected, that was the most surprising outcome of the battle.  _

 

_ The most surprising thing had involved one Pansy Parkinson. It hadn’t been a shock to Harry, all things considered, when the Slytherin had cried out her desire to hand him over to Voldemort. No, she was a Slytherin and, although Hermione pestered him to let old House rivalries and prejudices die, being a Slytherin meant that you were more likely to support Voldemort. That was simply a fact.  _

 

_ Therefore, it wasn’t her words that had shaken his very core, nor the slight waver present in the extended right arm that was directed towards him.  _

 

_ It was the excruciatingly raw fear that was present in her eyes when she did.   _

 

* * *

 

“Shit.”

 

“Language,” Hermione stated, much to Harry’s combined amusement and irritation. 

 

“I’m twenty-four, Hermione.”

 

Her eyes darted to meet his for a split second, before her mouth twisted into the hint of a smile, “Sorry,” she relented, “I spend too much time around Weasleys, they all regularly swear like a bunch of sailors on shore leave, it’s nice to be able to tell somebody off for it every once in awhile.”

 

Chuckling briefly at her words, Harry offered his best friend his arm, hoping to reign in the fact that he was shaking -  _ actually shaking, get a grip of yourself, Harry,  _ and the pair began to move towards a grand set of double doors.

 

He felt Hermione’s fingers grip into his arm, as tried to stop his walk from being an awkwardly stoic, robotic affair, “Calm down,” Hermione hissed into his ear, “you’re the  _ Chosen One _ , remember?”

 

“If you ever call me that again I swear I’ll disown you.”

 

He felt Hermione’s smirk as his frame managed to relax somewhat, “Shut up,” he mumbled, irked. 

 

The Ministry of Magic’s Annual Ball took place every June, a tradition started as a combined Memoriam to, and celebration of, of the lives that were lost to Voldemort’s regime. 

 

This year, a mixture of deep burgundies, rich purples and royal blues radiated from every perceivable surface. An enchanted ceiling, similar to that of the Hogwarts’ Great Hall provided the majority of the lighting, a magnificent purple and red nebula was present overhead, as though the heavens were but a stone’s throw away from the guests. There was a shimmer of small balls of light, the size of fireflies, present just above Harry’s head, giving the illusion that they truly had entered the stars. A scattering of the same lights had been placed, in no discernable pattern, across the large, circular dance floor. 

 

“Wow.” Harry heard Hermione breath next to him, and he had to admit, the sentiment was shared. 

 

“Ah,” Hermione began, pointing slightly off to the left of their position by the doors, “I believe I can see my date.”

 

Harry’s gaze followed the tip of her finger, where right enough, one George Weasley was present, huddled together with Harry’s other best friend, Ron, and Ron’s new fiance, Astoria.

 

“Let’s go-,” Harry started to answer, until the sight of something, or rather  _ someone _ , strode into his line of vision, “Oh My God, Hermione, I can see her!”

 

“Where? Oh yes, I see her. Okay, Harry, you aren’t breathing, remember to breathe,” Hermione whispered, digging her fingernails painfully into his forearm, “you’re turning purple, Harry!”

 

* * *

 

_ He hadn’t known exactly what unearthly deity had possessed him. Why, fresh out of a hard week of Auror training, and a full-to-bursting list of possible activities to do or friends to catch up with, he’d found himself outside an unfamiliar townhouse somewhere along the outskirts of London.  _

_ Finding her had been easy enough, with Ron’s new girlfriend Astoria, not one, they had discovered, for valuing confidentiality as much as others may, had provided more than enough information on Pansy’s comings and goings as Harry could possibly need.  _

 

_ Her face had contorted when she saw it was he, Harry Potter, who had been responsible for the ringing of her doorbell, first in what looked like alarm, then shock. “Potter?” Her voice was full of a demanding pressure before he noticed her eyes widen briefly as she mentally assessed her greeting. “Harry?” and that time, her voice had been quieter, softer around the edges, as though less of a challenge and more a curiosity, “sorry,” she added, “old habits and all that.” _

 

_ “Sure,” Harry had replied, “I’m sorry to come by like this, I just wondered if…” he had trailed off, not knowing himself, exactly, why he was standing in Pansy Parkinson’s doorway.  _

 

_ “Would you like to come in?” _

 

_ He breathed a sigh he wasn’t aware until that moment he had been holding. “Thanks.” _

 

* * *

 

Hermione had successfully managed to steer Harry towards the small gathering of Weasleys (both actual and soon-to-be), and was, rather uncharacteristically, telling Ron to  _ get Harry something alcoholic, now, _ claiming that logic and reason had long abandoned Harry at this point, and even she had to admit that his nerves needed drastic calming measures. 

 

“Here you go, mate,” an amused Ron passed Harry a tumbler of something dark and fizzy, “better drink it quickly,” he added, nodding over his best friend’s shoulder. It was only a few seconds until a shiver overtook his spine as an all too familiar, yet all too absent touch swept across his right shoulder blade. 

 

Harry threw the bottom of the glass upwards and grimaced as a burning  _ something  _ ghosted its way down his throat, making sure to swallow the last drop and follow Hermione’s useful instruction to continue inhaling oxygen and exhaling his embarrassment at the state he’d got himself into, before he turned his head, and his eyes, once more, found hers. 

 

* * *

 

_ “Were you expecting green and silver?”  _

 

_ His gaze halted as it swept over the purple and magnolia decor of the kitchen, and fell upon the room’s focal point, a large, cream-coloured aga. He let out a single laugh at her words, “Ha! No, I certainly don’t have a red and gold flat.” _

 

_ She returned the laugh. The sort of light-hearted, carefree sound he’d never dreamed that could have come from the same place as Pansy’s sharp tongue. It was refreshing, Harry had thought.  _

 

_ “So, since I’m assuming you haven’t decided to quit being an Auror and become some sort of decor-inspector, what can I do for you, Pot...err...Harry?” _

 

_ Having told plenty of lies throughout his years at Hogwarts, Harry cursed the fact that his creative knack for inventing believable stories had utterly abandoned him at this moment. After taking a deep, shaky breath, Harry did something he had explicitly told himself he was not going to do - he told the truth. “I honestly have no idea.” _

 

_ “Oh. Okay. Would you like some wine?” _

 

_ “I’d love some.” _

 

* * *

 

Her hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of ravens, stained red lips more exquisite than the finest of rubies and her dress held her body in the same way in which a wall displays a masterpiece.

Drawing him to her, she locked her arms around his neck, and her breathy  _ hi  _ was an enticing breeze upon the side of his neck.  

 

He heard her greet the remainder of the group in a collection of polite niceties before a perfectly manicured hand wrapped itself around Harry’s bicep. “Do you want to get a drink?”

 

He nodded as his eyes met Hermione’s and internally noted her mouthed  _ breath _ , before allowing himself to be led towards an elegant bar of black marble.

 

“Wine?” he croaked, wishing against all else that some saliva would grant him the kindness of once again taking up residence in his mouth. 

 

Her hand stayed clutched around his arm as they perched themselves upon two identical barstools, and Harry’s breath hitched somewhere around his throat as he remembered the last time they had come across that particular type of seating. They hadn’t chosen separate ones, then. “Always wine,” Pansy nodded. 

 

* * *

 

_ “Let me guess, you want a bottle of wine, perchance?” he asked, pressing his mouth into the nape of her neck as his arms wound themselves around her stomach.  _

 

_ “Obviously,” she replied, “always wine, you should know that by now.” She examined the bottles that were standing, rows upon rows, lined up behind the bar they sat in front of. “That will do,” she pointed, shifting herself slightly in the barstool they were currently sharing, and Harry was willing to bet a lot of gold that she could sense exactly why he was suddenly impatient to leave.  _

 

_ “That is the cheapest bottle of wine I’ve ever seen you choose,” Harry remarked. _

 

_ “Oh, I know, it’ll probably be ghastly, but I envision a lot of it will get spilt, and it seems a shame to waste good wine like that.” _

 

_ “Now I’m intrigued.” _

 

_ “You should be,” she responded, mysteriously. _

 

_ A mere thirty minutes later, Pansy was kneeling, her knees resting upon the mattress of Harry’s bed, on either side of his hips, the tips of his fingers were drawing unspecific patterns upon the sides of her bare thighs. She was looking down at him, her nose wrinkling in that way it did when she smiled, pouring the wine with an exaggerated abandon of recklessness. Most of the liquid fell over either herself, Harry watching hungrily, as her naked breasts quickly became covered in the beverage, or his, equally naked, chest, rather than the wine glass she held that Harry was certain was solely for show.  _

 

_ “Oh, silly me. I’ve spilt some. How’re we going to clean all this up?” Pansy asked, her voice rife with a faux concern. _

 

_ “Allow me,” Harry responded, his upper body jerking upright as his hands flew to one of their favourite spots - resting upon each of the round cheeks of Pansy’s behind. The moan she elicited as his tongue began to eagerly dart over her soaking chest was somehow both equal parts wanton and elegant and was utterly his undoing.  _

 

_ “You’re perfect,” he stated, between kisses.  _

 

* * *

 

“Antigua, I think. It had the best beaches, anyway.”

 

Harry nodded. “It sounds incredible, and now I’m wishing I’d taken some time to travel somewhere.”

 

Pansy’s eyes sparkled, a combined effort, Harry reasoned, from the enchanted star lights, coupled with her eyes’ naturally occurring shimmer. “You should really think about it.”

 

“Bit late now.”   
  


Pansy sighed, taking a sip of her wine. “That’s your problem, always has been.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re twenty-four, Harry, not a hundred and eighty!”

 

Harry snorted, missing neither the way the pad of her thumb had begun to draw imaginary circles over his arm or the fact that her stool was suddenly a good few inches closer to his than it had been ten minutes previously. “You’re right,” he stated, simply.

 

“Only just noticed?”

 

He sighed, amusedly, through his nose at her response and noticed, for the first time, that the room had filled with guests during the time he had spent learning of Pansy’s travels. From somewhere, a band had started and a number of couples were moving, arms entwined and legs as one, across the large, star-strewn dancefloor. 

 

“Do you want to dance?”

 

He hadn’t been prepared to feel one stiletto move seductively up and down his left calf, nor had he expected Pansy to lean forward and grasp the bottle-green tie that was hanging from his collar. Using the tie as leverage, Pansy hopped off her own stool, standing between Harry’s slightly opened legs, and pulled him into her. His hand found the base of her back just as she leant into the right side of his head and whispered her answer into his ear. “No, but I guess we can, for a while.”

 

* * *

 

_ “I never knew you were the someone waiting for me.” _

 

_ She laughed at his words as his fingers laced through her own, “Well, I did try and hand you over to your arch enemy, that doesn’t exactly scream great romance potential, does it? Did I ever say sorry for that?” _

 

_ Harry gasped, theatrically feigning shock. “Did Pansy Parkinson just admit she was wrong about something-” _

 

_ “Oh, shut up-” _

 

_ “Alert the Prophet! Call the Minister!” _

 

_ “I swear to Merlin!” _

 

_ Laughing, Harry threw himself sideways across the grass they were currently lying in and reached out, snaking his arms around as much of Pansy as he could. “Gah! Stop it!” she cried as she found herself wrestling with a stubborn Harry, half-heartedly attempting to evade as many of the kisses he was currently trying to place upon any part of her his mouth was able to reach.  _

 

_ At that point, a small radio that Harry had insisted on bringing with them changed songs. “Oh, I love this one,” Pansy cried, eventually giving into Harry’s relentless efforts to kiss her and moved her head to the side, permitting his lips access to her neck.  _

 

_ “I do, too,” Harry replied, now running his tongue over her sensitive pulse point. “Come on,” he exclaimed, before suddenly jumping to his feet, and offering her his hand.  _

 

_ “Come on what?” _

 

_ “I want you to dance with me.” _

 

_ “No!” Pansy protested, squealing as she felt his arms beneath her. He picked her up and placed a brief kiss on her forehead before placing her upright, “We’re in the middle of a field!” _

 

_ “So?” _

 

_ “I have no shoes on!” _

 

_ “And?” he replied, ignoring her protests and placing his arms gently around her, grinning victoriously at her exasperated laugh, and the way her body began to move against him. _

 

* * *

 

 

The music radiated through both of them in a continuous, vibrating thrum. The hovering dots of light had been dimmed and, in that moment, Harry could have easily forgotten about the copious other individuals present. 

 

“Pansy,” he whispered, relishing the way she pressed against him.  _ The way she used to _ , he thought to himself. 

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Was it what you needed?”

 

* * *

 

_ He looked at her with wide eyes. “Travelling?” _

 

_ “Yes, we always said we would, Daphne and I, I mean, from when we were kids.” _

 

_ Harry dropped his gaze from hers. A thousand protests lay unspoken on the surface of his tongue. “That...sounds great.” _

 

_ She scoffed, “You don’t sound very convincing.” _

 

_ “I’m not going to pretend to wish you wouldn’t stay, instead.” _

 

_ “I’ll come back,” she whispered, sliding herself against his chest before gesturing her hands back and forth between them, “this is...amazing, Harry. But we’re only eighteen, and it’s different for me here. You’re a hero, and I’m...still a villain.” _

 

_ “I’ve defended you against-” _

 

_ She briefly placed her lips against his, firmly halting his train of words,“I know you have, but... I think I need this.” _

 

* * *

 

“Yes,” she nodded her head against his chest. 

 

“I hate to admit it, but you were right.”

 

“Well, that’s hardly surprising, but just to clarify, since I’m right about a lot of things, to which specific instance are we referring to right now?”

 

“We were just kids.”

 

Her hands trailed upwards, one slowly rubbing the nape of his neck whilst the other reached into his hair. “Yes, we were.”

 

“But now, we’re not.”

 

He felt the vibration of Pansy’s laugh through the front of his shirt, “Maybe we are still kids.”

 

He placed his hands closer together on the base of her back, pulling her gently so that she was even more pressed into him. “But it is different now?” 

 

She managed to reply with a simple  _ yes _ before Harry leant down and whispered in her ear, “Darling, just kiss me slow.” 

 

Raising her head from his chest, Pansy’s eyes held his before she succumbed to his request and pressed her lips to his. 

 

He allowed himself a gentle stream of four further kisses before he managed to pull himself from her, “Want to get out of here?”

 

“Gods, I thought you’d never ask” she replied, giggling slightly, “shall we get a bottle of cheap wine?”

 

“Definitely,” Harry replied with a smirk and allowed Pansy to pull him through the crowd of dancers.

 

The bar was busier now, and they waited, Pansy scrutinising her reflection in the mirrored wall behind the numerous bottles of liquor. “I look a mess.”

 

Harry whispered beneath his breath, quiet enough so that no one around would notice, but loud enough that he knew she’d hear, “You look perfect tonight.”


End file.
